I could." "But what objection can she have to me?" he asked loftily. "I
really must make her acquaintance." "Not through me, then," said Beth.
"Do you know the Benyons?" "No, I don't know anybody in the
neighbourhood as yet. I'm here with old Rich to be crammed. My people
are trying to force me into the bar or the church or something, because
I want to be a sculptor." "Don't be forced," said Beth with spirit.
"Follow your own bent. I mean to follow mine." "I didn't know girls had
any bent," he answered dubiously. There was a recoil in Beth. "How is it
people never expect a girl to do anything?" she exclaimed, firing up. "I
don't see what a girl can do," he rejoined, "except marry and look after
her husband and children." "That's all right at the proper time," Beth
said. "But meanwhile, and if she doesn't marry, is she to do nothing?"
"Oh, there are always lots of little things a woman can do," he answered
airily. "But supposing little things don't satisfy her, and she has
power to follow some big pursuit?" "Oh, well, in that case," he began,
somewhat superciliously. "But it's too rare to be taken into
account--talent in women." "How do you know?" Beth said. "Robbing women
of the means to develop their talents doesn't prove they haven't any.
The best horseman in the world could never have ridden if he hadn't had
a horse. I certainly think a woman should see to the ordering of her
household; but if she has it in her to do more why shouldn't she? _I_
shall want to do more, I know. I shall want to be s